


there will still be something beautiful.

by SirenSong



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 01:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13202553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirenSong/pseuds/SirenSong
Summary: There are no words. No bluster. Only a surprisingly shy smile as Rodimus wordlessly hands over the engraving.( Or Rodimus and Drift and the briefest of glimpses into their growing friendship. )





	there will still be something beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> **Pairings** : Rodimus/Drift, Amica Endura.
> 
> **Warnings** : None.
> 
> **General Notes** : For one of my bestest friends in the whole wide world. She literally e-mailed me, ' _I KNOW YOURE BACK IN THE FUTURE SO GIVE ME SOME DRIFTROD FEELS SLUT._ ' and how can I refuse her???
> 
> **Current Notes** : /also aggressively shrugs at timelines and continuity for this because my canon now.

Rodimus hands a disc over to Drift.

If one didn’t know about the context of the gift, many would have thought Rodimus was being cheap. Drift knows better. Drift likes to think he knows Rodimus better than any other bot these days.

There’s little fanfare when Rodimus presents his Amica-to-be with the gift. Its a quiet evening on the base, the other Autobots having retired to their rooms to rest up for tomorrow’s briefing. It left the two speedsters by themselves on that rooftop, allowing them to admire the alien beauty of Earth’s stars and skies.

Perhaps its the comfortable silence that gives Rodimus the courage to give Drift his gift. Perhaps its the kindness in Drift’s laughter as he laughs at every joke Rodimus throws his way, no matter how awful they are. Perhaps he knew it was the right moment at the right time with the right mech.

Whatever the reason, Rodimus suddenly falls silent and looks thoughtful, casting a long and significant look to a puzzled Drift. With his optics dim and expression soft, Rodimus bows his helm for a quick second as he reaches into his substance and pulls it out.

There are no words. No bluster. Only a surprisingly shy smile as Rodimus wordlessly hands over the engraving.

It must have been beautiful once, Drift notes as he brushes his digits over the rust spots and cracks that runs across its surface. Crystalised plasmite that, once upon a time, must have come in brilliant shades of red and gold. He could tell that it would have glittered under the shine of any light in the past. That the intricate designs carved into the material were glyphs and symbols that asked for protection and safety of the holder.

If Drift dimmed his optics and tilted his helm just right, he could see his reflection on the ruined surface along with the faded name that his own name has been carved over:

_St_rb_r_t of N_on._

“I thought your sire was buried with this.” Isn’t that the custom for all the miners of Nyon? To have their Protegere Medal buried alongside their frame upon their passing?

"Should have been,” Rodimus replies, trying to look cool and nonchalant. The way his spoiler twitches in erratic, jerky movements reveals his nervousness. “But they told me - ordered, really, my sire didn’t have these things called manners - to give it to someone I cared for when the time came.

"Nyon’s mines were all but dry by the time I was sparked. There wouldn’t be a Solum Gathering for me so I could dig around the mines in search for plasmites and crystals and ore. There wouldn’t be any of those fancy artisans to teach me the glyphs and symbols to make my own a super special medal to give. There was none of that.” Rodimus clears his vocoder, realising now how it had become staticky and glitchy. “So, um, yeah. Here you go.”

_Yeah. Here you go._ It almost made Drift want to laugh at how casual that sounded because he and Rodimus knew that it was anything but that.

Drift knew that an item like this was considered an important relic among the remainder of Nyon’s population. One of the few items held dearly by those who came from the once shining city, a reminder of those better days that the rebellion fought for in Nyon’s dying years. One of the few possessions a Nyonian would fight for if they were being robbed or threatened.

What did it say about Rodimus to finally relinquish it to someone he thought worthy of it? What did it say about him that his spark raced at seeing his own name on the medal now?

_I’ll protect it_ , he thinks, suddenly feeling a fierce protectiveness washing over him. _I’ll protect him. Please, give me the strength to help us through whatever comes our way._

And now its Drift’s turn to bow his helm, optics dim and expression soft. He casts a long and significant look to a hopeful Rodimus. Drift hopes with all his spark that his words conveyed the sincerity, the gratefulness he felt in this very moment.

“I accept your gift, Rodimus of Nyon. Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> And then Rodders makes the his Stars based on the idea of Protegere Medals. Atta boy.
> 
> You can hit me up on [my regular Tumblr account](https://alyonian.tumblr.com/), [NSFW TF Tumblr account](https://starschemer.tumblr.com/), and/or [Twitter account](https://twitter.com/withersake) if you want more fluffy robots.


End file.
